Collaboration with @silmarilz1701
Svetlana knew how to play the game. She'd been caught in the political drama of Stalin's inner circle since birth. The only child of one of Stalin's closest friends, she grew up in the limelight, scrutinized by frie...
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Training had done something for the Americans, that much was clear. They couldn't march to save their lives, but they could fight. At least Easy Company could. Carentan had proved as much, as had the counterattack that followed, and the skirmishes since. Sveta found the sounds of war comforting. Zhanna wanted to be as far up and out as possible; it offered control, a bird's-eye view. But Sveta knew that with bullets flying left and right, she had found herself as far from the grasp of Lavrentiy Beria as she could ever get.
And if she died from a German bullet, that meant she didn't risk dying from a Russian one.
The sun began to set on the crumbling town the Americans had claimed. The stones, usually a pale tan, almost white, glowed nearly gold against the red, darkening sky. Sveta took a deep breath, then a long drink. She stood along a wall, a low archway just behind her over the street. The drink that soothed her throat calmed her nerves and her muscles. In the quiet, ravaged French towns, Sveta felt much closer to Beria, to Stalin, to her father. She almost missed the danger, the thrill of a firefight. She wondered if she would get to hear the bullet that would ultimately find her?
She knew one would. But her bullets would find their ways into many Germans before that happened, and better to die defending her home than to die because of it.
"Samsonova."
Sveta turned left. Nixon moved over to her, flask in hand, the setting sun casting shadows over his face as he turned from it. She stood straighter. "Nixon."
"Have you seen Lieutenant Compton?"
He came to stand in front of her. Sveta looked him in the eyes. She hated that he stood several inches over her. All the officers did except for Welsh and so without a sound, she shook her head. But he didn't leave. "I don't keep tabs on him, Nixon. I'm not a spy."
His smirk grew, but he didn't comment on her jab. "If you see him, send him to Easy's CP. Do the same for Harry."
As he walked away, Sveta couldn't help but get in one more comment. "Are you acting as Sink's messenger pigeon, now?" She saw his movements halt. Sveta didn't even try to suppress her smile as he moved away without looking at her. "You're suited for it."
Sveta reached into her breast pocket. A frown replaced her smile as she realized there were no more cigarettes. Just her luck. Grumbling out a curse, she let her head lay back against the bricks.
"Now, see, if I still had my cigarette pack I could give you one."
Speirs. She tried not to grin as she saw him move over from the door across the street. Dog Company had taken a few of the houses there, with Easy across from them. The starkly contrasting lines of camouflage that had adorned his face on D-Day had faded, replaced instead by a layer of dirt and grime they all had gained. Contrary to his comment, a lit cigarette hung from his mouth.
"You should guard your cigarettes more closely, Speirs, if Casmirovna can steal them," Sveta said, voice even. But then she cracked a smile. "Besides, I've been warned not to accept your cigarettes."
